


what would it take for things to be quiet?

by thefaultinourships



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3x09, M/M, but no names are used, hopefully you'll figure it out, i watched this scene about 5 times in a row while writing this, pretty angsty shit right here, so it might be hard to tell who's who, told in Mickey's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefaultinourships/pseuds/thefaultinourships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s heard somewhere that it is impossible to drown yourself. That something in the human body will register the fact and won’t let you do it. Your survival instinct will kick in, making it physically impossible to do so without help.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>That’s what hurting him feels like.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	what would it take for things to be quiet?

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxVwj4uwjkI) song on repeat while writing this. just saying.

He’s heard somewhere that it is impossible to drown yourself. That something in the human body will register the fact and won’t let you do it. Your survival instinct will kick in, making it physically impossible to do so without help.  
  
That’s what hurting him feels like.  
  
Everything in him is telling him _not_ to lash out at the boy. Something in him is keeping him from punching him again. From kicking at his already broken body. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to do it twice already. Doesn’t know how he’s managed to go against every instinct his body is feeling at the moment.  
  
Maybe there was something wrong with him.  
  
“Feel better now?”  
  
No. He feels worse.  
  
He doesn’t even know what this feeling is that he’s feeling. This feeling that was bringing tears to his eyes just from seeing him lying on the ground. Vulnerable, because of him. There he was, willing to get the shit beat out of him because somehow he has managed to send mixed signals to him.  
  
It was never supposed to go past the first fuck. His dad almost catching them that first time should have been a sign to stop. Not do it again. But they did. And once they had, it was supposed to stay as just fucking. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn’t supposed to end up beating his feelings out on the kid in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t supposed to have had any feelings at all. But here they were.  
  
And they sucked.  
  
“Feel like a man?”  
  
He feels like shit. But fuck, who else is there to witness him like this? Other than the boy on the ground, of course.  
  
He wonders if he knows. Wonders if he could feel how much he held back on the first punch. He hadn’t planned on holding back at all. Something just stopped him from throwing his whole self into that first punch. Like the body trying to drown itself; it couldn’t.  
  
Does he know that the only reason the second punch even landed was because he closed his eyes at the last second? He wonders if he knows that the only reason it hurt was because he put every ounce of self-hate he felt into it.  
  
He probably doesn’t know that the sound of his pained gasps is slowly numbing him. He definitely doesn’t need to know that when he kicks him, he’s picturing his dad.  
  
He wonders if he felt the regret pouring out of him. He probably couldn’t feel the apology on the toe of his shoe.  
  
He thinks a piece of his heart just chipped off along with the part of the tooth he saw fly out.  
  
When he walks away, he wonders if he knows that he’s left his whole heart there with him on the ground.  
  
“Feel better now.”  
  
And he does. Because finally, all he feels is numb.  
  
When he gets home he wonders if he’ll ever forgive him for this. He wonders what will happen if he doesn’t. Then he wonders what will happen if he _does_. He can’t decide which one would be worse. Knowing the fucking kid, he’ll probably pout for a few days and then forget about it. Forgive and forget; what a fucking joke.  
  
Not forgiving him would be the obvious option. It’d be the easiest as well. For him, anyway. He wonders though, if he could go back to not caring about him. If that insistent need to know how he’s doing would go away with time.  
  
Forgiving him would be the stupid option. Then again, this is the kid who’s dared to be gay in a neighborhood like this. He’s still trying to figure out if that makes him brave or just plain suicidal. So far, it seems to be the latter.  
  
He wonders if he hates him as much as he hates himself right now. He probably doesn’t. He almost laughs at the thought of him thinking that they’ll get over this. Water under a fucking bridge is what it’ll be to him within a few days.  
  
That’s okay. He can hate himself enough for the both of them.  
  
He wonders if he’s still lying on the ground or if he’s managed to drag himself up. He doesn’t know how much time has passed if he’s being honest. So he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here regretting every single moment in his life that’s led to this point in time.  
  
This is what drowning must feel like. Suspended in one moment where you’re helpless to do anything but think of everything that went wrong and all the things that could have gone right. Where the only enemy left is yourself; your own thoughts. Past the point of saving yourself, you’re left in the hands of someone else to find you in time.  
  
He’s pretty sure that he just cut ties with the one person who’d be willing to save him.  
  
A part of him thinks that he’s better off without the kid. The other part just laughs at that because he knows that’s a lie. He knows what he felt. No type of gun, or knife or assault weapon gave him the same feeling of invincibility that that boy did. He’s pretty sure nothing else ever will, either.  
  
He thinks he’s okay with that, too.  
  
Because if he can’t admit to the truth to at least himself, then he is well and truly fucked. Hell, he’s been well and truly fucked since his sister came in that one day running her damn mouth about a boy who didn’t want to get in her pants.  
  
 _One day,_ he thinks, _he’ll come to his senses and realize that he's better off without me._  
  
He prays that that day comes sooner rather than later. He doesn’t know how much more of this either of them can take.  
  
At the same time though, there’s a part of him, deep down inside-with the same part of him that knows that what he said back there is true- that selfishly hopes that day never comes.


End file.
